


Curam

by soupypictures



Series: Finally, Finally [1]
Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: Lactation Kink, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupypictures/pseuds/soupypictures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan Lochte did not have a stomach virus in Beijing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curam

**Author's Note:**

> Title is Latin, accusative form for “concern/worry/anxiety” and the extended definition can be “attention/care/cure”. (Even writing mpreg I am just that pretentious.) This required google searches of the following phrases: _when do babies start to kick_ ; _when does morning sickness start_ ; and _pregnant woman insecurities_. You can thank/blame actualite for this. After she saw [this](http://i48.tinypic.com/21c6q10.jpg) photo, she remarked that if Lochte!mpreg did not exist, surely it needed to. Because she has written so many stories that I adore, I have sacrificed my dignity to give her this. ;) I hope you enjoy, dear.

They (read: Ryan and Troy) told the media that his stomach bug was due to brushing his teeth with nonpotable water. That would have been stupid, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t stop throwing up for three days. No, that was because a month ago after they’d both finished up Trials Ryan had knocked the condom out of Michael’s hand and said _just fuck me_ in a way that brooked no argument.  
  
Michael had never been able to resist that voice so Ryan can’t be mad at Michael for doing just exactly as he’d ordered. (To be completely honest, Michael had never been able to resist Ryan in any form, (only that voice especially) and it didn’t help that Ryan had already worked himself open while Michael was finishing up his post-meet meeting with his coach and his hand was shiny with lube and Ryan was already panting on the bed, waiting impatiently and saying his name in that breathy way he did when he was just that desperate.)  
  
When it started, he had no idea it would be like this.  
  
\---  
  
He worried that Michael would leave him. Who would stay with a freak? Yeah, Michael had loved him in spite of his grillz, his garish choice of colors, and their fierce rivalry in the pool, but this? A fucking _child_?  
  
The logistics were harder to explain to Michael than explaining what “ten two hundreds on two-thirty holding two-ten, negative splitting each fifty” means to a non-swimmer. (Ryan’s not even sure he understands it himself. The first, not the second. He only pretends to misunderstand his sets at practice.)  
  
But Michael reacted the way every father-to-be _should_. He’d taken Ryan, who was crying (fucking _hormones_ ), into his arms and said words that only made him cry harder.  
  
_“I love you.”_  
  
and  
  
_“I could never leave you, why would you say that?”_  
  
and  
  
_“Marry me.”_  
  
\---  
  
He worried that Michael wouldn’t want him once he started to show, or that — worse — he wouldn’t want Michael, that it would be too uncomfortable, that he’d see his body and be too ashamed to let Michael touch him anywhere.  
  
But he needn’t have worried.  
  
Despite Michael’s initial inability to comprehend just what had happened (and really, no one blamed him), he’d accepted the changes in Ryan’s body with fascination and an almost unsettling kind of reverence. They would begin an evening with their hands pressed to Ryan’s stomach to feel the baby’s kicking and they would end the evening with Ryan on his hands and knees and Michael behind him, his palms cupping Ryan’s hips and his fingertips sneaking over to caress Ryan’s growing belly. Michael would say things that Ryan would ordinarily find kind of creepy, but under the circumstances, they were exceedingly hot bits of sentences —  
  
_“I fucking love that you’re carrying my child_ — _”_  
  
and  
  
_spreading his hand across his stomach, “This is hotter than your hard body_ — _”_  
  
and  
  
_“Can’t wait to suck your tits_ — _”_  
  
That last one made Ryan come all over the sheets and he would hide his face in shame except Michael _said_ it. Out loud. _Fuck_.  
  
\---  
  
He worried he would be a terrible father.  
  
Ryan says he doesn’t regret any of his past mistakes — most of them involve breaking bones during crucial training periods or right before big meets — but now he wonders if that’s some kind of clue that he’s not cut out for the life of being a parent. He doesn’t know how to change.  
  
But he talks to his mom, who has always known exactly what to say, and she explains that when the baby comes, he’ll know how to change.  
  
_“The baby will make all the difference.”_  
  
\---  
  
He never said it out loud, but this is what had worried Ryan most of all.  
  
They scheduled the C-section for April 1, 2009 (a couple of weeks early and against the wishes of both of their mothers, but Ryan hadn’t lost his sense of humor and anyway, it was the first day the doctors said they could operate). Michael was there in the operating room with Ryan, who was about to join the small number of men who had delivered a child from their wombs but could not say they knew the pain of childbirth.  
  
After the administration of the epidural and he lost feeling in his entire lower body, Ryan started to panic. He clutched at Michael’s hand with his own and pulled him to lean over so Ryan could look right into his eyes. “If I don’t make it, please don’t fuck this up.”  
  
Michael tried to disarm him with a smile and, “Aw come on, you’re going to be fine,” but Ryan was not having any of it and only squeezed his hand harder.  
  
“I’m serious. Promise me.”  
  
He did, and it was not long before the nurse was showing him a slimy alien baby pulled from his abdomen and whisking it away to be checked out. Tears ran down his face and he looked up at Michael whose eyes were shining. “Is she human?” was all he could think to ask, and he didn’t know how he knew it was a girl.  
  
Michael laughed and kissed his forehead. “Never change.”  
  
and then  
  
_“She’s perfect.”_  
  
\---  
  
They named her Ellis and found themselves explaining “No, not after Meredith’s mom on Grey’s Anatomy” so many times that Ryan told Michael, “I was _worried_ about that,” and Michael responded, hands busy changing a diaper, “Why didn’t you _say_ anything then?”  
  
“It was so far down on my list I’d honestly forgotten about it until Whitney made a face at the hospital.”  
  
Michael stared down at the newborn, who had stopped fussing and was drifting off to sleep. “I was worrying about other things, too.”  
  
Intrigued, Ryan scooped up his daughter and carried her to the bassinet. “Like what?” Michael had been nothing but supportive and confident and reassuring and there had been times that Ryan had wanted to punch him in the face for his positivity. Most of those times had come when he was bent over the toilet puking his guts out, or later on when he was bedridden and Michael got to _walk around the house_.  
  
“Like whether or not you’d still want me, if you’d leave me, or if I would be like my father.”  
  
Ryan tore his eyes from the sleeping Ellis and found Michael standing at the changing table still, eyes down and his _aww, shucks_ face on. “You were worried about _that_?” Ryan asked in disbelief.  
  
Michael shrugs. “Mostly about the last one though.”  
  
“Michael —”  
  
But Michael pressed his hand to his chest. “I know, in my head, that I couldn’t be. But I have to live it to know it here.” He tapped his chest and something inside Ryan broke a little bit.  
  
“I’m sorry —”  
  
Michael laughed and shook his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, baby, because I won’t have to wonder anymore. I can prove it to myself now.” And then Michael was there beside him, looking down on the angel in the bassinet. “Thank you.”  
  
\---  
  
Taking a backseat to everything baby-related was Ryan’s worry that when he and Michael finally got to fuck again, would Michael really want to —  
  
— Michael’s tongue swiped across Ryan’s tender nipple so quickly he could almost pretend it didn’t happen. _Almost_.  
  
There it is.  
  
“What the fuck??”  
  
Michael had never been bashful in bed before (such a turn-on and probably what got them here in the first place) and wasn’t starting now. “I wasn’t kidding, before. If you’re not grossed out —”  
  
“You’re lucky I don’t make enough for Ellis to eat or every time she latched on I’d have this _picture_ of you in my head and so help me god —”  
  
“I just want to taste you.”  
  
Jesus _fuck_ but he’s turned on again. “Okay okay but be careful —”  
  
Before he was pregnant (god he hates that word) he wasn’t much into it when Michael would play with his nipples. But now he was covering his burning face with his hands and trying not to rut up against Michael’s thigh. Michael pulled off after only a few seconds and laughed into his neck, hand wrapped around Ryan’s cock. “Was that hot?” he teased, and Ryan came over his fist after only a few quick pulls, eyes squeezed shut.  
  
“Oh my god, fuck you, yes.”  
  
And Michael pressed into him slowly (wearing a goddamn condom), mouth right beside his ear, whispering, “You taste amazing.”  
  
“Yeah? Like what? Cow milk?”  
  
“Not quite.” Michael was close, Ryan could tell, so he hooked his leg around Michael’s to pull him deeper.  
  
“Tell me what I taste like,” Ryan demanded hotly and Michael laughed, hips stuttering, and came.  
  
After letting Michael collapse on him for a few minutes he rolled him off and reached for some tissues. “Seriously, dude, I’m kind of curious.” He made a face at the mess as he wiped at his stomach and chest. _Why is sex such a fucking mess?_  
  
Michael waved at him. “It’s yours, right there, go for it.”  
  
“That’s fucking sick, no, just tell me.”  
  
Michael rolled his eyes. “What does your _sweat_ taste like?”  
  
Ryan answered immediately. “Chlorine.” His eyes widened in realization. “Holy shit.”  
  
“I know, hot, right?”  
  
“Um, no.” Ryan opened his mouth to add something like _never again, or only when you’re good_ but he’s interrupted by the crying baby in the next room. “Perfect timing.”  
  
\--  
  
Ryan realized that he would never stop worrying, but he would be able to handle it with Michael there by his side. Ellis would assuredly be scarred for life for many reasons by the time she got through her teenaged years, but none of them would have to do with a lack of love, support, or understanding.  
  
But she might curse Michael for her ears.  
  
_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> and yes obvs this is his niece, but hey. fiction needs some grounding in reality, i say!  
> 
> 
> the google doc that housed this fic began with this, and i hope it inspires someone to complete what i had intended to start and finish:
> 
> _this is supposed to be a document that contains a story about ryan lochte just not outwardly giving a shit about how he expresses his feelings that michael phelps has become the most decorated olympian ever._
> 
> _it probably will not contain that story, because i probably cannot write it._
> 
> _but here are the reasons why i should:_  
>  1\. ryan lochte really does not outwardly give a shit about how he expresses anything.  
> 2\. ryan lochte is a handsy guy.
> 
> _this is going to be ryan lochte mpreg instead._


End file.
